


Act IV: Love Gained

by LadyCorvidae, roseforthethorns



Series: Don't Stand So Close to Me [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alone, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Confession, Defending Honor, Explicit Language, F/M, Fighting, Forbidden Love, Grounding, Loss of Trust, Love, M/M, Mistakes, Multi, Professor!Lock, Reconciliation, Romance, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/pseuds/LadyCorvidae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/pseuds/roseforthethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's life hangs in the balance, Jim is gone, Sherlock is depressed, and everything seems to be going straight to hell.</p><p>(I own nothing of these characters. All Sherlock rights go to the BBC, Moffat, and Gatiss. I'm just having some fun.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alone and Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How can anything be fixed now?

Gregory Lestrade was starting to think he was losing his mind. The first indication that anything was truly wrong was when John dropped in during lunch on Friday to inquire about Molly; she hadn't been to lecture or lab that day. Concerned, Greg called into Molly's other professors with the same result. Mary said she wasn't at the infirmary, and a check of Molly's dorm had her roommate confirming that she hadn't returned after her English exam the day before. When Lestrade barged into Sherlock's office as he was packing to leave, the professor was surprised to see him, but a single glance told him that something was incredibly wrong, namely, that Molly was missing

"Where is she, Holmes?" Greg asked, desperate. "For the love of God, tell me whatever you know..."

"I haven't seen Miss Hooper since the exam yesterday. She did seem to check her mobile and then set off once she handed her paper in if that helps."

He cursed roundly. "Do you have any idea which way she went? Any idea at all?" he pleaded.

oOoOo

At St. Bart's Hospital, Mark Wallstan, an orderly, walked by a coma patient's room. He checked her charts at the foot of the bed and sighed. So young, poor thing, a Jane Doe, brought in the other day, no ID on her. He looked at her face. She was a pretty thing... in a sort of girl-next-door way; then he looked harder. He _knew_ that face, and the ring that she wore on her right hand... the last time he had seen it, her lips had been blue with cold, and she had a ring of bruises around her neck. He finished his job and called his supervisor. "I have an ID for our Jane Doe. She was here in late November, early December... hypothermia. Look up the name Molly Hooper, or Lestrade, and make a call. She has family," he said, once the head doctor of the coma unit showed up.

oOoOo

"I'm not privy to the dealings of my students after class, but if I had to wager a guess, I'd say she met someone for tea or coffee to unwind after the exam." Sherlock snapped his briefcase closed and gathered up his coat.

"That doesn't do me any-!" he yelled, but he was interrupted by a ring of his mobile phone. He cursed again. "Hang on," he told Sherlock, answering it. "Lestrade... yes. Yes! Oh god, you found her-... _what_..? She's _what_? I... can I see her?" he asked, his face going as pale as death. "Okay. I... I'm on my way." He hung up, his voice thick and his eyes bright with tears; the voice on the other end of the line had told him exactly where his daughter was: in the comatose ward. They said that they had nearly lost her, and that her situation was still dodgy. "I... I have to go. They have her... she's... she's in a coma. Dunno if she'll wake up," he said hoarsely to Sherlock as he stumbled his way out of the classroom.

The professor's eyes went wide, and he almost followed, only to remember that he had broken up with her and to follow now would do him no good. Unable to think of leaving and heading home, he set his things back down on his desk and took out the exams to grade. She could be dead, dying, _in a coma_ and all he could think about was how much he loved her and how stupid and blind he'd been to think that breaking up would protect her. "Oh, I am fortune's fool," he whispered, despair setting in as he opened the cap on his red pen. (1)

oOoOo

Greg raced over to the hospital, nearly breaking the speeding laws to get there. He got to Molly's room as quick as he could, his breath catching in his throat as he saw his little girl hooked up to machines that helped her eat and breathe, an IV attached to her arm, his daughter as pale as the sheets she was under. "Oh, my Molly," he choked, sitting down heavily in the chair next to her, taking her hand which was curled into a fist. While he was there, the doctors told him what had happened. Poison, plant-based: _Atropo belladonna_ , more commonly known as nightshade. They lost her briefly on the ride to the hospital, but had managed to get her heart beating again, only now she was unresponsive, looking like she was asleep. The staff left him by the bed, still holding Molly's hand.

He was rubbing his thumb across her knuckles when he saw a piece of paper in her clenched fist. Greg gently worked it open and removed it, uncurling and unfolding the paper to read it. The writing was archaic and slanting, firm. A man's hand. He growled as he read through it and folded it back up violently and shoved it back into her hand. He knew that handwriting...and the style. A sonnet... to _his_ daughter... from Sherlock Holmes. It didn't take much figuring out to interpret what it contained, and Gregory Lestrade was no idiot. He left Molly's side and went back to his school, red clouding his vision.

Sherlock had made it through half of his Romeo and Juliet exams when Lestrade came bursting back into his office. The headmaster hauled the tall, thin professor up from behind his desk by his lapels and punched him square in the gut. "You _bastard_! You were sleeping with my daughter!" he roared, fists flying, catching Sherlock's face and chest.

Sherlock tried to raise his hands and arms to protect himself and deflect Greg's fists, but the man had clearly taken lessons on fighting and he felt he deserved every blow; he could feel the bruises forming on his body

"I don't want you to come near my little girl ever _again_! _EVER_! DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?" Lestrade said, punctuating each word with a punch, raising welts wherever he struck and bloodying his own knuckles as well. Finally, he managed to knock Sherlock to the ground and stood over him, chest heaving, eyes alight with rage and contempt. "You are dismissed from your position. Effective immediately. Get your things and _get out_ ," he spat, his voice glacial.

Sherlock coughed, spitting out blood onto the floor as he looked up at the Headmaster. "Yes... sir."

Lestrade turned on his heel and walked back to his office. He had a phone call to make.

oOoOo

John heard shouting and the unmistakable sound of punches being landed. He raced out of his office and down the corridor as fast as he could, noting that the sounds were emanating from Sherlock's office. He made it just in time to watch Headmaster Lestrade storm out, looking livid, his knuckles already bruised. John went into the office and saw his best friend laying on the ground, groaning, bruises and welts rising all over his pale skin. "Bloody _hell_ Sherlock! What happened?" he asked as he went to help him up.

"Pissed off the headmaster," the professor gasped.

" _How_? I've never seen him this angry!"

"Er..." Sherlock looked at John and knew what was coming. Bracing himself, he said, "I-I slept with Molly Hooper."

John froze. "You...  _what_?"

Sherlock had never hated himself as much as he did right then, the disappointment in John's face cutting him hard. "I had an affair with my student."

John took a step backwards, chuckling in disbelief. "I... I don't believe it. You great, fucking _MORON_! You slept with the headmaster's daughter!" he yelled, his face disappointed and angry.

Sherlock nodded, staring at his shoes. John wound up and delivered a hard blow to Sherlock's jaw. "You're pathetic," he said quietly. "I _warned_ you about getting too close to her!"

Sherlock took the punch, his face burning with shame and pain. "I know you did, John. I remember."

"Then _why_ , Sherlock? Why didn't you listen to me?"

"Because... because I fell in love with her, John."

The shorter man rubbed the bridge of his nose. "That, unfortunately, isn't going to save your job," he said quietly.

"No, it hasn't. I'm gone, John. Lestrade just fired me. Looks like I'm returning to my books sooner than expected."

His heart sank. "I'm sorry, mate," he said, turning to leave. "Well... was it worth it?"

"I broke both our hearts the day of the fire in my classroom, but before then, I'd never been happier in my life. You tell me, John. Does it sound like it was worth it?" _Don't leave me high and dry, John. Tell me it will be all right. Stay by me, please_.

He sighed. "Yeah. If you were happy, sounds like it was worth it, then."

Sherlock swallowed the tears that threatened his eyes; he hadn't cried in a few decades. "I suppose I'll see you around then, John," he murmured as he turned to start packing up his office.

"Yeah... see you around," John said as he left, dashing at tears that formed in the corners of his eyes. He felt both sorry for and angry with Sherlock; he wanted his friend to be happy, but apparently his happiness came with a price too dear to pay.

oOoOo

It didn't take too long for the professor to pack up his office and haul his things to the front of the school and call a cab; Sherlock dragged his things up the stairs into his flat when he returned to 221B and dumped them in the living room before collapsing on the couch, and he let his mobile ring out three times before he finally answered it. "You going to yell at me too?"

"Of course I am. You've lost your teaching license, permanently and had me called back from my Sabbatical because you are an utter _prat_!" Mycroft yelled. This was the first time in years that he had actually raised his voice to his brother, preferring to use his wit to cut, but right then, he was so angry that he didn't care. "What were you even THINKING?!"

"Like you'd care."

"I care when it's my _brother_! Sherlock... why?"

"If you absolutely have to know, I fell in love, and then fucked it all up. Are you quite satisfied now? Can I go back to my depression in peace?"

Mycroft sighed into the phone, the sound coming out like a hiss of static. "I'm sorry it had to happen this way, Sherly," he said heavily.

"Save your false pity, Mycroft. It doesn't become you."

"For God's sake, I'm trying to be supportive! Are you so thick that you can't tell when I'm actually _concerned_ for my baby brother?" he said angrily, losing his temper with Sherlock again.

"Is it any surprise? You never bothered to do so before unless you had something to gain. How would this time be any different?"

"Because you're _family_ , Sherlock! I worry about you, constantly. Whether you're safe, if you're all right, if you're getting enough rest.. and every time I inquire about it, you fling it back into my face like some spoiled _child_!"

"Then if that's what happens, how come it always seems to surprise you, you overgrown ponce?!"

"Because I'm apparently dim enough to think that one day you'll care back," said Mycroft bitterly. "Goodbye, Sherlock. I'll see you when I get back from Italy."

"Enjoy teaching the little snotrags I've left behind. You have one play left, final papers, and the final exam left."

"I know. I'm the one who _gave_ you the syllabus, after all. Get some sleep." And with that, Mycroft hung up the phone, staring at it silently and sadly before he turned to pack his things.

Sherlock nearly chucked the mobile across the room before all of the feelings and sentiments that had risen in him crested and crashed through his mind palace, flooding his mind and the tears he'd been fighting and struggling with started pouring from his eyes. He was alone once more.

oOoOo

Sebastian Moran had carefully shut himself off from the world. Since the mass e-mail at school (Anderson had been punished for it... expelled. If _he_ had his way, he would have had a much more permanent expulsion in mind), he hadn't seen Jim. And then the headmaster's daughter had gone missing right after she had left the exam to have tea with Jim. The whole school was abuzz with the rumors: she had killed herself, she had been kidnapped, she had run away. Then she turned up again, in St. Bart's in a coma. But not dead. _Still alive_.

"You stupid fucker, you failed again," he murmured as he sat in his room, staring at the wall and taking another pull on the bottle of scotch in his hand. He winced as the liquor burned its way down his throat... drinking to forget. He had requested a room change, and it had been denied, so he was forced to remain in the small chamber where he and Jim had loved, had lived, had made plans. He hated it, hated it with a passion. He knew that his grades wouldn't be good enough to warrant a return next year, so he was looking to enlist in Her Majesty's Army. At least he'd always have work that way, and he wouldn't have to worry about hiding in the shadows and hunting. He could do whatever he liked as long as he had that uniform and a gun. He had to grin at that. Yes... that would do nicely. He glanced at the calendar again; his meeting with the recruiter was in another day, and he was sure to be accepted. And as soon as he was, he could enlist and put everything behind him. New friends, new memories, new things to distract him, weapons and gore and the fight and struggle for survival. That's what he needed. The Tiger would be free to hunt to his heart's content in the cradle of civilization.

Just what he... needed.


	2. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly wakes...but she isn't the same.

It had been three days since Molly had gone into her coma, and by this point, Greg was starting to prepare himself for the thought that he might just lose his only daughter. He felt so guilty for not protecting her enough, not looking after her or being there, for not keeping her away from the clearly dangerous people around her. "I'm so, so sorry, my baby."

Molly blinked, her eyelids fluttering and squinting against the harsh, white light of the hospital. "...Daddy?" she asked, her voice as harsh as a raven's croak.

"Molly?!" Greg's head snapped up and... yes! There, he saw her eyelids move and her breathing sped up a bit. "Hang on, Daddy's here." He pressed the nurse call button as she started coming around.

There was more light and sound as nurses rushed in to take her vitals, move the respirator away so she could breathe on her own. "Daddy... where 'm I?" she asked, confused and a little frightened at her surroundings.

"Hospital. You've been in a coma for three days, darling." Greg wasn't even aware he was crying.

"Daddy... Daddy, please don't cry," she said, reaching up to dry his tears, like she had done as a little girl.

He pressed kiss after kiss to her hand in his. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Wha-? No, you found me," she said, still a little confused. Things were coming back in disjointed bits and pieces.

"The doctors said that a homeless boy found you and called the ambulance."

"A what? Why? Why did I need an ambulance? Daddy, what happened to me?" she asked, growing agitated.

"Molly, calm down, calm down," he said. "Okay, breathe slowly. What's the last thing you remember?"

She focused. "I... I don't know... the exam," she said.

"Did you go anywhere afterwards?"

"I don't remember..." she said. And she didn't. There was a blank slate, a locked door in her mind.

"It's okay. You're safe and it's okay," he murmured. "How do you feel?"

She checked herself. "Woozy. Tired. Daddy... what _happened_?"

"You- oh Molly... someone poisoned you."

She went pale. "Wh-what? With what? Why?"

"Nightshade and we don't know why. Since you were outside of that tea and coffee shop you like, I'd guess someone slipped you something in your drink."

She shivered. Then she noticed the piece of paper that was clutched in her left fist still. She opened her hand and looked at it. She recognized the handwriting... elegant, slanted, masculine. The sonnet. She flushed and shoved it under her pillow.

Lestrade didn't miss it. "What was that?"

"N-nothing," she said, "just some paper."

"Molly..."

"It's only _paper_ , Daddy..." she said, stubbornly.

"Not a love poem?"

"What? N-no!" she stammered.

"Spiky handwriting, black ink, a _sonnet_ perchance?"

She went pale. "You read it..."

"I did, Molly Hooper. I did read it. And I should be the one to tell you that Professor Sherlock Holmes has been fired and his brother is returning early from his sabbatical to replace him."

She began to shake slightly. "Oh," she said softly. That was the only thing she _could_ say. Her head was too full of alarm bells and sadness...  _Sherlock_. He had ended it... even after he said he loved her, even after he'd given her the sonnet.

"You are never to see him again, Molly."'

She snapped back to her father. She was quiet. "Yes... sir."

"That's it? You aren't going to fight me on this? Molly, you _slept_ with him!"

"Yes, sir," was all she'd say, her eyes fixed on her pale, trembling hands.

"What did he do to you? Was it forced?"

She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly blazing. "No sir, it wasn't forced," she said, fiercely but quietly.

"Do you mind telling me what did happen?"

"Yes, sir, I mind."

"You are aware of the consequences of your stubbornness, yes?"

She kept her jaw set. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. From this moment forward, your dorm privileges are revoked, and you are moving back home. You will commute with me to and from school and will report to my office at the end of each day. You are not to go out, you are not to date, you are not allowed to attend school functions. Am I understood?"

"Yes... headmaster," she said quietly.

Greg felt the stab of pain in his chest at her frosty response. Perhaps he truly had lost his daughter after all.

oOoOo

The days went by. Molly recovered enough to be moved back home. Her things from her dorm were already waiting for her in her room, and she was able to go back to classes in a week, taking the ride in to school with her father, sitting silently in the passenger side of the car. In fact, she did everything silently now. She rarely, if ever, spoke in class, she always handed in her work on time, but she only answered questions if asked specifically, and she moved silently through the halls, avoiding everyone. Molly earned herself another new nickname: 'the Ghost'. She'd glide along the corridors, as quiet as a graveyard, ignoring the whispers behind hands, the shudders.

Molly was quiet at home as well. She only spoke if spoken to, and called her father 'sir' or 'headmaster', not 'Dad' or 'Daddy'. She ate in silence and retreated to her room as soon as the meal was done, disposing of her dishes; she spent most of her time reading, her collection of Shakespeare steadily gathering dust.

Greg watched as the days passed, his daughter withering away before his very eyes; he felt completely helpless. She wouldn't eat much, refused to speak to him. He thought for a few days that it was her missing memories (they still didn't know who had poisoned her, but his money was on Moriarty since the boy hadn't been seen since), but soon he just had to accept the fact that whatever had happened between her and Sherlock had affected her too deeply to be repaired. The worst part of everything was that he had absolutely no idea how to help her.

oOoOo

It was late on a Thursday afternoon, and the Shakespeare class (once again taught by Mycroft Holmes) was over. Molly hung back, waiting for the other students to leave; she had a pressing matter to discuss with her teacher...one that only he could help her with. She approached the front of the room and stood quietly, waiting for him to notice her.

"May I help you, Miss Hooper?"

She cleared her throat. Her voice was huskier now from disuse. "Yes, you can. In fact, you're the only one who can. I need to see him. Please."

Mycroft looked up at her, setting down the papers in his hands. "I am sorry for your loss, Miss Hooper, but I cannot take you to my brother."

Her breath left her in a rush. "Please...  _please_ take me to him..." she said, her voice cracking now. "I... I _need_  to see him. If only once..."

"I have my marching orders just as I am sure you have yours. No."

What she did next surprised both herself and Mycroft. She sank to her knees, hands clasped in front of her. "Please... I... I _beg_ of you. I need to see him, one last time. I need to find out _why_. Why he... why he lied to me."

The professor's eyes went wide, and he reached out a hand. "Please, get up." He sighed. "Follow me to my office."

She took his hand and he helped her up, following him on the familiar route to the office. It was devoid of anything that reminded her of Sherlock which was a blessing. She stood there, shifting her weight from foot to foot nervously.

"Molly, what _exactly_ happened between you and my brother? He has been... less than forthcoming, shall we say."

"We...ah..." she blushed. "We... were lovers."

"I surmised as much from your father's phone call. What I meant was how did it end?"

Molly blanched. "After the burning incident. He called me into here and said... said that what we had... was a distraction. An _experiment_. That what I felt for him was 'cute', and that he was married to his work," she said, her voice laced with pain. "He... he had told me he loved me. And he said that he was just _acting_." She stubbornly dashed away tears that were beginning to fall from her eyes; she was so sick of crying.

Mycroft pulled out the chair in front of his desk and led her to it, handing her the box of tissues from the windowsill. "If I know anything about my brother, that sounds like exactly the kind of thing he'd do if he thought it would protect you. Miss Hooper, I've never seen my brother so broken up or despondent over anything."

She let out a sigh, staring at the tissues. "Then can I see him, one last time? Just... just to end things better. Please," she said softly.

"I'm not sure that's wise-"

"Damn being wise. I love him... even though it's killing me. You know how that is..." she said, looking at him with keen eyes.

It was Mycroft's turn to blush and glance away. "How many people know about that?"

"Just me. And your brother."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed slightly. "I suppose he told you?"

"No. I figured it out myself. I'm not blind or stupid, Professor Holmes."

"And I did not suggest anything of the kind. I just want to make sure you understand that I risk my job giving you this information. Your father has been more than clear in his instructions regarding my brother."

"I know."

Mycroft shook his head and pulled a piece of paper and a pen from his desk. "Here," he said, scribbling an address on it. "He's working on his next research project now that he is no longer teaching. He's there today."

She took the slip of paper in trembling hands. "Thank you... thank you so much," she said, her voice choked with gratitude.

"Now you may want to get moving. I believe you are supposed to report to the Headmaster's office in ten minutes."

"Right." And with that, she rabbited out of the room, calling a cab to the library where Sherlock worked. She folded up the paper and slid it into her pocket, taking deep breaths to try and steady herself, calm her rapidly beating heart. The former professor was sitting amidst a pile of books a few feet high when he heard familiar footsteps approach. He felt the blood drain from his face and his heart speed up as he struggled to compose himself.

"Sherlock?" she called quietly, noticing the somewhat gaunt figure hunched behind steadily growing stacks of books.

He took a deep breath before responding. "What are you doing here?"

"I... I had to come and see you..." she murmured, taking a half-step forward.

"Molly, you shouldn't have come."

Her eyes glinted with fire. "Yes, I should have. I want _answers_ , Sherlock. Why? Why did you lie to me?" she said, her voice anguished, the long-held question finally asked.

"Why did I lie to you about what?"

"About loving me. And then about not loving me. I need to know. Please..." she said, her voice now soft, hard to hear.

Sherlock put down his pen and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If I explain myself will you go?"

"I..." she swallowed hard, dismissed like a naughty child. "Yes. I'll leave."

"It was clear from the heart burning on your desk and Moriarty's subsequent discovery in the courtyard that he knew about us and intended us ill. I ended it right then with you for your protection, something which I will never forgive myself for as I have a very strong hunch that it was he who poisoned you after my exam. The lie was the breakup, not what came before. Now, will you go? I have _work_ to do."

She flinched. He was so cold. "Look at me, please," she begged softly. "Look me in the eyes."

"Molly-"

" _Please_."

It was the briefest of moments. Sherlock didn't trust his control enough to maintain it for more than a few seconds, especially when tears of self-loathing burned them. " _Go_." he whispered.

She set her jaw and walked closer to him. She took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead softly, gently. "Sherlock Holmes... I'll love you until the day I die," she murmured. And with that, head held high and tears pouring down her face, she turned on her heel and left.

oOoOo

Greg was restless as he paced the living room of the flat, tensing when he heard the key in the door. "Where have you been?!"

She looked dully at her father. "Library."

"You are very luck that Professor Holmes called in and said you would be missing your curfew, but I highly doubt that you were doing research for his paper. Where were you?"

She met his eyes. "I had to see him."

Greg's face went the color of a ripe tomato. "Sit. Down. _Now_."

She sat, gaze cool.

"I do not know how else to impress the rules of this house on you, Molly, but since you seem quite keen to disobey, you will now be attending summer school."

She set her jaw again. "Yes, headmaster," she said, voice quiet.

He was in her face in a second. "No. Not headmaster. What is wrong with you? Ever since you woke, my daughter has been gone. She left you in her place, Molly!"

The broken-hearted girl snapped. "Well, you've been slowly killing _your_ daughter. Locking her away, away from the life she had, from the people she loves! All because you can't stand to let me _go_. I'm not eight anymore!"

"Well, forgive me for wanting to make sure she is safe since she insists on dating murderers and professors," he shot back.

"Like I knew that Jim was a murderer," she said. "At least I'm not a hypocrite."

"A hypocrite? And you never did explain those bruises from your fall in November. They certainly were _not_ from a scarf. I asked for a professional opinion. You were choked, Molly."

She glared. "You've changed the subject. AND pried into _my_ private life without my permission. Even if I had told you, it's not like anyone would have believed me. I'd just be adding 'attention whore' to my list of names."

"What names?"

She flinched. _Shit_. "Nevermind," she said quickly, dismissing it with a shake of her head and a wave of her hand.

"How can I trust you if you continue to keep secrets from me, Molly? How can I hope to try and keep you safe if you are lying?"

She took a deep breath. "And how can I trust you when you're just as in love as I am... and being a coward about it?" she said, her voice quiet.

"Why do you keep insisting on changing the subject?" But the damage was done as Greg's face flushed with embarrassment this time as opposed to rage.

"Because he loves you just as much as you love him. And keeping me away is killing me, Daddy," she said, her voice finally cracking.

"Are you sure he even wants to see you? And why are we even having this conversation? He was your professor, he's at least ten years older than you. Molly-" He stopped dead. "You just called me 'Daddy.'"

She nodded, the room swimming in front of her from the tears in her eyes. Lestrade sighed, shaking his head. "Molly, what happened to you?"

"I grew up. I fell in love. It happens, Daddy."

"You still lied to me."

"And you're still lying to yourself. Technically, I didn't. The last time you asked me if I was involved with Sherlock, I wasn't. You never asked again, so I couldn't revise my answer."

Greg bit his tongue. "So, you went to see him today, persuading Mycroft to help you. And how did that go?"

She flinched again, letting her eyes close. "I still love him. And I always will. And he loves me too, even if he won't come back to me," she said softly.

"How do you know?"

"Because... he told me as much. And he... he cried, when I left," she said.

The headmaster didn't respond; he simply opened his arms. She got up and stumbled into them, sobbing as if her heart would crack in half. "Shhhhhhhh, I've got you, darling," Greg whispered, holding her tightly and sitting them both down on the sofa

"Daddy, it _hurts_ ," she said brokenly.

"I know, sweetie. I know."

Molly wept until she felt as limp as an old dishrag, her cries quieting after what felt like hours, moving into shudders and sniffles. Lestrade continue to stroke her hair and cradle her close, not caring that his shirt was damp with her tears. "What are we to do, then?"

"I... I don't know. But... you should stop hiding from him. And you know exactly who I'm talking about," she said.

"I- I can't, Molly."

She pulled back and looked him dead in the eye. "Coward," she whispered.

"Calling your old man a coward now?"

"Yes. Because you're so _stupid_ in love with Mycroft, and you've never done anything about it."

"There was a reason for that... although, I think I've forgotten it now."

"Daddy," she said, hoping against all hope that he would relent.

"It frightens me that I cannot protect you, that I've nearly lost you twice this year."

"As... as much as I hate to say it, you won't always _be_ there to protect me."

"Forgive an old man for trying."

"I do. But... you need to let me go. I love you, but you're stifling me, Daddy. You can't keep me cooped up forever..."

"I'll make you a deal. I'll invite them both over for dinner. Fair enough?"

She took a deep breath and let it out. "Fair."

"Good. Now, go get something to eat."

She nodded and made her way into the kitchen.

Greg rubbed his face and groaned, biting his lip until he dug his mobile out of his pocket. _Just call... just one call_. He dialed the number and held the device to his ear. The other man answered on the second ring. "Yes, hello, Mycroft. I'm calling to invite you and your brother over for dinner..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We looked up the effects of nightshade poisoning, and it turns out that you can suffer memory loss as a result, so we aren't copping out. We're being realistic.


	3. Food and Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for dinner with Greg, Molly, Sherlock, and Mycroft...

Molly paced, glancing at the clock. It was almost half six which was when their guests were due to arrive. Not only had her father finally screwed up the courage to ask Mycroft over for a meal, he had relented and invited Sherlock as well. This would be the longest she had seen him since their breakup, and she hoped and prayed that he would take her back now that they were no longer student and teacher, now that the danger had passed.

oOoOo

Mycroft scowled into the mirror. Of all the things he had done in his life: giving lectures to award-winning authors, writing a book on Shakespeare's composition style, teaching a popular class for ten years running, all of this seemed to be inconsequential to the fact that Gregory Lestrade, headmaster of the school, his _boss_...and the man he had a hopeless crush on, had invited him over for dinner. The only thing that would make it better would be if his irritating sibling didn't have to be invited as well, but it had been part of the deal. He straightened his tie and suit jacket one last time, took a deep breath, and set out.

oOoOo

Sherlock sat in his armchair in 221B with his violin in his hands. He was dressed for dinner but hadn't moved in over an hour. He was anxious about it, and there had been no way he could politely refuse  the invitation, no matter how much he wanted to. He was going to have to face Molly as soon as he arrived, and just the thought of seeing her made his throat close up and his eyes burn. _Fine... FINE_! Putting away his violin before he could wimp out, Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and left the flat.

oOoOo

Molly took a deep breath. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour, and there was a knock at the door. Her heart pounded in her throat as her father went to answer it, and she checked her appearance one more time. Hair half-up, most of it left to fall in soft waves over her shoulders, a swipe of color on her lips, a nice skirt and blouse, liner to brighten her eyes. She swallowed hard and began walking downstairs.

Greg stood in front of the door for a full ten seconds before he managed to open it, revealing the Holmes brothers on his front stoop. "Evening, Mycroft... Sherlock." He mentally exhaled at having said their names without blushing or snapping.

Feeling uncommonly nervous, Molly hid behind her father. Mycroft swept in, admiring the surroundings. "Good evening, Gregory, Molly," he said, with a brief nod of acknowledgement. While he looked as cool as ice, he was horribly keyed up. His heart was pounding and he was sure his hands were clammy with sweat.

Sherlock followed on his brother's coattails, managing a brief and soft "Hello" to both Lestrade and Molly. His heart was in his throat and it was everything he could do to stay still and keep his face blank. She looked... well, she looked amazing and it just made his heart ache.

Her heart sped. He looked fantastic... as always. "Sherlock," she murmured in greeting. Her father led them to the dining room where the food was on the table already. They took their seats and ate. In silence. The quiet was awkward and dragged uncomfortably, broken only by an occasional 'please pass the salt'. Molly fidgeted with the edge of the tablecloth. Something had to give... and soon.

Sherlock worked extremely hard to not stare at her across the table, glancing occasionally to his brother and to Lestrade who were clearly looking anywhere but at each other.

... _Well, this is awkward_ , Greg thought, biting down on his tongue. If the silence dragged on any longer, he might just snap. Molly felt slightly despairing as Sherlock made it a point to look at anywhere _but_ her. The tension seemed to be at its peak when she could stand it no longer. "So... how... how is everyone?" she asked, her voice almost falsely bright. She internally winced. _God_ what a stupid question...

Sherlock swallowed hard and stared down at his plate. Greg looked over at his daughter, secretly relieved that he hadn't spoken first

"I'm just fine, Molly. And yourself? You seem to be recovering nicely. Still too thin, though," said Mycroft, making it a point to shoot a sidelong glance at his younger brother.

"What's that for, Mycroft?"

"Hm? What's what?"

"Your clearly pointed look in my direction on telling Mol-Miss Hooper that she looks too thin."

"Must have imagined it, I'm sure," Mycroft said drily. _You could have inquired after her health at_ least _once_ , he thought. Molly's head shot up and she felt her face redden a bit in indignant anger. After all they had been through, all they did with each other... and now she was relegated to 'Miss Hooper'? She clenched her hands into fists under the table and stared at her plate.

"No, I'm fairly certain you stared at me for no less than five point three seconds as you spoke the end of your statement, _brother dear_ ," Sherlock ground out through clenched teeth.

There was a loud _bang_. Molly had slammed her hands on the table. "Oh, for God's sake, will the both of you _GROW UP_!" she yelled. There was a stunned silence.

Sherlock slowly turned to look at her, meeting her gaze with ice in his eyes. "Something you'd like to say to my face, Hooper?"

"That is completely uncalled for-" Greg started to cut in.

Mycroft's eyes were wide and his brows were raised. No one, not even Mummy, had said that to them before. Molly held her head high, ignoring her father. "Yes, I would, in fact," she said, staring straight into Sherlock's face. "You're acting like such a _child_. One that's having a fit. Ignoring me, using my surname, _dismissing_ me, like nothing at all went on between us. You can't take what we did back, Sherlock. Not like I would want to," she said, finishing quietly.

"That would imply that I would want to take it back and forget everything. Since all I seem to be able to think about is you and you consume not only my thoughts but my dreams and my feelings, then yes. I want to forget it all if it means I can have my mind and soul back from you!"

She recoiled as if struck. Molly gathered her strength and willed herself to not cry."You're all that I think about, too. But I would never want to have my mind or soul back from you. I gave them both to you, freely. And my heart as well..." she said quietly.

"You deserve someone who could take them and care for them properly, Miss... Molly."

"And I have deemed you worthy."

Greg was staring open-mouthed at the exchange, seeing the full extent of Molly's love for the younger Holmes for the first time.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Even after everything I've done to you?"

"Wait, what do you mean 'everything you've done?'" Greg interjected.

She ignored her father. "Yes, Sherlock," she said. Mycroft laid a hand on Greg's forearm. The two younger people needed to sort this out themselves without any interruptions.

" _Why_?"

"Because I _love_ you! Because you were there for me when no one else was. Because you gave me a chance. Because you let me in."

"I truly don't deserve you, Molly," Sherlock mumbled, staring down at his plate again.

"Yes, you do. You deserve to be loved, to be _happy_ ," she said, putting as much feeling into her voice as she could.

"No I don't." He could barely hear his own voice

" _Why_? Why do you say that?"

"Because it's true. I've never deserved it."

She stood, voice full of righteous anger. "Sherlock Holmes, that is the biggest lie I have _ever_ heard. _Everyone_ deserves to be loved."

"And how could you possibly believe that? By that reasoning, the boy who attempted on multiple occasions to murder you deserves love as well?"

She flinched. "Yes... even him. Because the world is a desolate place without it," she said softly.

"Wait, time out. _Murder_ , Sherlock?"

Mycroft looked from Molly to his brother. This went far deeper than he had originally thought. His brother was so in love with the girl that the feeling was palpable, but he still continued to insist that he didn't deserve it. "If you keep throwing her feelings back into her face, I'm going to begin to agree with you, Sherlock," he said, his voice icy. "She clearly loves you more than she can stand."

The man rounded on his older sibling. "You of all people should know. At least when I was trying to figure it out, I went for mine. You're spineless."

Mycroft bristled. "At least I didn't  _lie_ to the one I loved," he spat.

"It was to protect her!"

"There are other _ways_ to protect her! I fail to see how breaking both your hearts is one of them."

"Moriarty knew about us and was more than willing to kill or hurt us both. I know he set the heart ablaze in my classroom and having it burn on her desk was no mistake. How else was I to keep her safe from a madman? Especially when our relationship hinged on secrecy, Mycroft?"

"Have him arrested! At the first incident, you should have had her press charges!" he said, this time aiming a cold stare at Molly, who recoiled slightly in her seat.

"She refused to say a single word on the matter and there was no evidence! Just a hunch."

"From what you told me, the fingerprints around her neck would have been evidence enough."

Sherlock felt his face heat. "I only knew because I figured it out. She refused to elaborate whatsoever on the matter, brushing it off for less than it was. What was I supposed to do? Force it from her? Take by force?"

Mycroft sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "No, I'm not saying that you should have forced it from her. Persuaded, yes. Forced, never."

"Will someone _please_ tell me what's going on?!"

Molly slid her glance over to Sherlock; she didn't want to talk about it. The younger Holmes glanced at the headmaster. "Molly's ex, Jim Moriarty, made two attempts on her life this year, the first when she nearly drowned, the second when she was poisoned. There is no point in looking for him as he is long gone."

Molly swallowed hard. She had been so close to death, it really made her appreciate what she had. As well as made her resolve stronger in going after the things she wanted. She reached across the table and took Sherlock's hand. He flinched slightly but didn't pull away. It took everything he had not to tremble

She felt the small contact go through her like an electric shock. She shivered lightly and tightened her grip. His hand was warm in hers, and she realized, not for the first time, just how much she missed him. Sherlock felt his throat seize up and his eyes begin to burn; he missed her so much that it was like losing a limb, and her hand on his was like everything being set right once more. "Oh _Molly_..."

She gave him a warm smile, one that reassured, one that let him know just how much she loved him, still did, always would. "Sherlock..." she murmured. Holding his hand made her feel like the world had been put back on its axis after being misaligned for so long. _Too_ long.

He was out of his chair before he'd realized he'd moved. In a few strides he'd rounded the table and swept her into his arms and held her tight and close, never wanting to let go again. She nearly choked out a sob and held him as tight as she could, as if her life depended upon it. She could feel his heartbeat, his warmth. She could breathe in his scent. "I love you... I _love_ you," she whispered desperately.

"I've loved you from the first time I saw you," he whispered back.

She buried her face in his chest, letting him know without words that she felt the same way. "My sweet prince, my Hamlet, my lover," she murmured so that only he could hear her.

Mycroft could hardly believe it. Here was his younger brother, even more of the stoic than he, clutching this girl to him as if he needed her like the air he breathed. He turned to Greg and cleared his throat. If Sherlock could do it, then he'd be damned if he hid in the shadows any longer. "Greg... I... I've loved you for the longest time," he said, the words coming out in a rush.

Lestrade was so startled by confession that he knocked his water glass over, cursing. "Oh, ah, _really_?" he spluttered as he mopped up the mess with his napkin.

Mycroft had to stifle a bout of laughter. "Yes, really," he said gently.

"That's... uh... good. That's really good."

His eyes went wide. "R-really?"

"Yes, um, it is, because... well... becauseIfeelthesameway."

Mycroft blinked. Then, slowly, his face broke out into a wide, joyous smile. "Oh. Good. That's... that's good," he said.

"Right." Greg was sure he was bright red at this point. "Well then... ah... where do we go from here?"

The younger man swallowed hard. "Giveusakiss?" he blurted, blushing to the roots of his hair.

"Dunno if I trust my legs to move or my arms to not knock anything else over."

"Then I'll come to you," he said. Mycroft rose, crossed around the table and gently helped Lestrade to stand. "Now, same question," he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Done." Seizing the back of Mycroft's ginger hair, Greg yanked him down into a kiss, one he felt all the way down to his toes.

Molly blinked as her father grabbed Sherlock's brother and... kissed him. Hard. And kissed him... and kissed him... and kissed him. She looked up at Sherlock, feeling now very out of place. "Ah... I do believe that's our cue to go," she said quietly.

He glanced over and almost instantly made a face. "Lead on."

Molly led him away to the sitting room, out of sight of the dining room and the snogging men. "Can... can you kiss me, please?" she asked, almost afraid that he would refuse.

"I... Molly..."

She looked down at her feet. "Oh... I... I see. You're not comfortable with that anymore-"

"No! It's... I'm not sure what it is. I know I love you, but if- if I kiss you... I know I'll never let go again, and that terrifies me."

She nodded. "I understand. It scares me a little as well. And, to be quite honest... I don't want you to let go."

Sherlock slowly backed her up against the wall. "There is no turning back after this," he murmured.

Her breath quickened and her heart sped as she felt her back hit the wall. "No turning back," she agreed.

"I'll never let you go and while I can't promise to be the most attentive of partners, I will do what I can."

"Good. I don't _want_  you to let me go. And I'll help you."

He leaned down, his face centimeters from hers. "I'm counting on it."

"Of course," she murmured, her lips a breath away from his, barely brushing against them.

"My fair Ophelia." And his lips were on hers again where he knew they belonged, caressing and promising what he could, namely, that he would always love her.

She arched into him, nearly sobbing, the feeling of his mouth on hers just so _right_ that it almost hurt. She wound her arms around his neck and gently parted her lips to grant him access to her mouth, craving him. He moaned and complied, plundering her mouth with his tongue and wrapping his arms tightly around her body once more. _Forever_.

She wound her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feeling of it; the taste of him was intoxicating, one that she had dreamed of during those weeks alone. When he could no longer breathe, he broke the kiss but rested his head on hers. "I love you, my sweet one, fair lady, and I only hope that I am truly worthy of your love."

She chuckled softly. "My beloved... you've always been worthy of it."

He smiled. "Then we should make up for lost time."

Molly's smile turned wicked. "Yes... we should..."

Sherlock smirked and lowered his lips to her neck. " _Mine_."

Her breath stuttered in her throat as his lips met the skin of her neck. "Ah... yes...  _Yours_. Forever and always _yours_..." she gasped.

He worked the skin and sucked a gentle bruise there before reclaiming her lips. "Should we go and check on them?"

"They're grown men. I think they can take care of themselves. But if it'll make you feel better, we can."

"I just want to make sure my brother doesn't suck your father's tonsils out."

Molly made a face. "Eurgh... that's a mental image I didn't need."

He smiled down at her. "Come. There's no need to hide any longer."

She grinned, blindingly, achingly happy. "Let's go," she said, taking his hand in hers.


	4. Forever...At Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lovers are together, united for good this time.

Molly walked into the dining room and nearly walked out again, her face a brilliant red. Her current English professor had her father pinned to the wall and they were snogging as if they would eat each other alive. She cleared her throat, and the newly-minted couple jumped apart, almost looking guilty; Mycroft was about as red as his hair and her father looked all the world like a schoolboy, shuffling awkwardly.

"Ah... Molly... Right..."

"Mycroft!! Honestly, spare me the sight!"

"So... I take it that you two are in a relationship now? If your tongues down each other's throats is any indication..." she said, smirking mischievously, one eyebrow raised.

"And your embrace seemed to indicate that you had patched things up as well. Don't go pointing fingers, young lady."

"Not pointing fingers, merely asking," she said innocently.

"If you must know, then yes."

She grinned. "About time. Honestly!" Then she walked over to give her father a hug. "Be good to him," she murmured into his ear. Then she faced Mycroft, scowling genially. "If you break my father's heart, I'll find a way to make you regret it in only a way that the Bard would be able to describe," she promised.

It was everything Sherlock could do to keep from laughing, especially as his brother's expression turned into a cross between fear and incredulity. Mycroft swallowed hard. He was incredulous about her threat, but frightened of it nonetheless; anyhow, it seemed to be more of a _promise_ rather than a threat. He turned to his new _boyfriend_...the word made his insides feel all giddy. "Care to accompany me back home for a... nightcap?" he asked Greg.

The silver-haired man glanced at his daughter and then to her boyfriend before coming back to his own boyfriend. "Ah... yes, yes I think I shall."

Molly smiled at her father. However, that smile faltered as he walked over, looking deadly serious. Greg pulled Sherlock away for a moment. "Now that you two are involved again...  _properly_ this time... I can say this. If you break my daughter's heart _again_... I will make it so that you _wished_ you had died. I promise you that. Am I wholly understood?" he said, voice low so that only the other man could hear it.

"Crystal clear, sir," Sherlock replied just as softly, barely able to swallow for the lump in his throat.

Greg smiled, the expression vaguely threatening. "Excellent. Now, Mycroft... I do believe you said something about a nightcap?" he said, turning towards his partner. Molly giggled as the pair of them left, their hands entwined. She looked up at Sherlock. "Well... ah... that leaves us with the house to ourselves," she said quietly.

"Well, well, that it does. I suppose you have something you'd like to do then?"

"Only... only if you want to," she said, now suddenly shy, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Sherlock leaned in close. "I have thought of little else since."

She shivered as his voice ricocheted down her spine and seemed to settle in between her legs. She grabbed him and pulled him to her, claiming his mouth in a kiss that she could feel to the ends of her fingers. The former professor growled low as he wrapped her in his embrace and kissed her quite thoroughly. He could hardly begin to believe that he was here with her and that they were finally together, nothing between them, nothing forbidding them.

Molly gasped against his mouth, arching into him. She wanted him so _badly_ that it almost hurt. "God... I've _missed_ you so much..." she panted when they paused for breath.

"The stars could not miss their friends as much as I've missed you," he whispered back, staring into her eyes.

"Felt like the ocean with no moon to pull the tide in, when you were gone," she replied, eyes locked to his, feeling like she was drowning in them. She began to idly fiddle with the collar of his shirt, running her fingers just under it and brushing the skin there.

He shivered reflexively. "Do you have what we need?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Then take me."

She gasped at his words and untwined herself from him to lead him up to her bedroom. "Come..." she murmured.

He groaned, hurrying after her only to pin her to the wall at the top of the steps and kiss her soundly. She felt her eyes roll back into her head as he kissed her so thoroughly that she saw stars. "A little further... then I'm all yours," she said when he finally relinquished his claim on her mouth. She tugged at his shirt to beckon him to the second door off of the landing, opening it to reveal her room.

Reluctantly, he released her and followed into her room, shutting the door behind them. As soon as the lock clicked home, they were upon each other like wild animals, kissing fiercely, grabbing at clothing. Molly was sure she could hear the fabric of her blouse tear under the haste of Sherlock's fingers. She wasn't much more gentle with his, sending a few buttons flying to some dark corners of her room.

"I have to... wear that... tomorrow..."

"Can... fix it... later. Need you touching me _now_..."

"Done."

She moaned as she felt the heat of his fingers on her now-bared torso. She laughed a little, breathlessly. "No bindings this time," she said, recalling the first time they had made love.

Sherlock tore his gaze from her face and dropped it to where his fingers were tracing over the fabric of her brassiere. He could see the skin underneath, visualized in his mind as he reached around to work at the hooks holding it in place. Molly had to laugh more as he fumbled with it. "Here... let me," she said, moving his hands aside to deftly unhook and discard it.

Flushing furiously, he pulled back long enough to watch her deftly remove it, mentally cursing how simple she made it look... but now her chest was bare and he was kissing her lips, her neck, down to her breasts, working one nipple with his tongue and teeth and rolling the other between his fingers. Molly gasped and arched into his touch, her hands going to hold his head in place. "Ah... S-Sherlock!" she managed to say. Sensation flooded her and she was rapidly losing coherent thought.

He hummed to show heard heard but did not relinquish either grip. Her eyes fluttered shut as he hummed, the noise and vibration shooting through her. She managed to prise them open to retaliate. She ran her hands over his chest as well, then let them drift down his abdomen to brush very lightly just above the waistband of his trousers. Sherlock gasped as if shocked, distracted by her clever fingers. He dragged his eyes back up to meet hers. "Can't wait any longer."

She curled her lips into a wicked smile. "Ohhh, but we can. After all, we've been waiting for a while, what's a little extra going to hurt?" she purred, deftly undoing his trousers and sliding them (and his boxers) down to his ankles, kneeling before him. Her breath ghosted over his arousal and she flicked her tongue out to taste him.

Sherlock didn't know what had hit him as his knees buckled and very nearly gave out. "M-M- _Molly_..."

"Shhhhh... let me do this," she whispered, and took him into her mouth. She ran her tongue around him and took as much of him as she could, then relaxed her throat to take him all the way in. She swallowed once, and took a quick glance at him to gauge his reaction. His hands scrabbled back to seek purchase on the wall as his face and chest flushed pink and he half-sobbed her name. Everything was over-sensitive and felt better than he could begin to describe.

She felt greatly pleased with herself and drew back so that only the tip of him was in her mouth. She began to suckle him gently, running her tongue around him. Giving up on the wall, Sherlock dropped his hands to Molly's head, fighting with himself whether or not to let her continue or pull her off. He was closer than he'd have liked, the lack of anything sexual since March not helpful for trying to stave off orgasm. Molly hummed in delight as his hands found her hair and squirmed a bit as she felt more wetness pool between her thighs. Giving him pleasure was turning her on something awful.

"S-s-stop... won't-won't last... oh dear god, _Molly_..."

She released him from her mouth and smiled up at him. She stood and quickly discarded the rest of her clothing. "Sherlock...  _take me_..." she whispered into his ear, her bare skin only just brushing his.

"As you wish," he whispered back, embracing and kissing her once more  before laying her down on the bed and stepping out of his trousers and pants. She fumbled in her nightstand for the box of condoms, opening them and managing to get one free, although she wasn't sure how she did it considering the amount her fingers were trembling.

Sherlock leaned forward and clasped her hands in his. "It's all right, my love. We can, now."

She smiled up at him, loving and joyful. "Yes... yes we can," she said. She dragged him to her for a kiss, nibbling his lower lip gently.

He plucked the condom from her hand, opened it, and carefully rolled it on before laying down on the bed beside her, still kissing and trading little bites and nips. Molly kissed him and gasped as he nibbled a particularly sensitive spot. Her leg brushed against his, a question in the gesture.

Sherlock opened his eyes and saw only love reflected back at him as he slowly rolled on top of his lover, positioning himself above her. She shivered deliciously and spread her legs so he could fit himself between them, arching upwards to welcome him into her.

"My fairest maid," he whispered in her ear as he pressed in slowly, moaning and shuddering as her heat enveloped him completely.

"My be- _ah_!-beloved..." she murmured back, crying out as he sheathed himself inside of her. She was so keyed up that she had to take deep breaths to keep from coming at once. She buried her face into his shoulder, drawing in his scent.

"I'm so... so sorry... for hurting you... for betraying you..."

"I... forgive you. I...  _love_ you. Always, always, _always_ ," she said softly.

Sherlock began to rock slowly, his face slack with pleasure and love. Molly arched her head back into the pillow and moaned his name, linking her ankles around his waist as he rocked into her, moving in time with him.

They fit together like two halves of a whole as they made love, trading breaths and moans and whimpers and sighs, sometimes kissing, sometimes simply staring into each other's eyes and speaking without words at all. Molly purred and sighed as he filled her. But, as always, good things must come to an end. She could feel herself beginning to reach the edge, the coil of pleasure inside of her winding tighter and tighter. Sherlock saw the change in her face and body and shifted his position slightly, driving in deeper and speeding up.

He read her like an open book and she whimpered as he hit deeper and sped his thrusts. With four or five more of them, she arched magnificently and came, his name on her lips, her body clenching around his, fluttering over him inside her, pulling him in. Seeing her come undone was more than what he needed to finish. He felt everything tighten and the fire in his gut flare before he was gone, coming with her name on his lips.

She held him close to her as he bucked and shuddered and spilled into her, crying out her name. "I love you, I love you, I love you" she whispered into his ear as he lay atop of her, both of them breathing heavily, trying to regain control.

It was a few moments before he came back to himself, disposing of the condom so he could cradle her in his arms. "Thank you for fighting for me."

She smiled and nuzzled into him. "You're worth fighting for," she said, pressing kisses to his neck and shoulder.

"I only ever wanted to protect you. When I broke it off... that was the hardest thing I'd ever done."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "It... it was hard for me too. It _hurt_. But I know now that you were trying to keep me safe."

"I swear to you that I never will again."

Molly grabbed him and kissed him with everything she had in her, poured out the depth of her heart and soul into it. That was all that she had to say, all that she needed to say. He kissed her back before tucking them both into her bed. "Sleep now, my love. Sleep and know that I love you."

She nodded, now exhausted by their lovemaking, and curled up beside him, arms encircling him as she fell asleep to his heartbeat. Sherlock watched her for a long time, pressing the occasional kiss to the top of her head before finally drifting off himself. "I love you, Molly Hooper."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just when you think it's all over...an epilogue is on it's way!!!! If you recall, there are a few loose ends to tie up.


End file.
